Whiskey Lullaby
by Shotgunsinlace
Summary: They were partners in crime. Always on the run, never looking back.  Wild West!AU


**Whiskey Lullaby**

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The stench of whiskey had driven him mad. The common rowdiness and the evening brawl over what young lady prancing flirtatiously across the stage in scantily-clad rags, barely deserving to be called a dress. He thought himself a bloody fool, having stumbled in there for a drink, when all he had set out for was some peace and quiet. Some time to think of that morning's heist. To rid himself of that vicious, clawing conscience of _'I almost killed the man'_. The good Lord up in heaven knew it had not been his intention to hold him at gunpoint. Everything had been under control until he had called out for help; he had panicked. Panicked, and pulled out a gun before his partner-in-crime barged in and pulled him away into the dry shrubbery.

From Gentleman to Scoundrel. The eldest of the Kirkland sons, reduced to robbing banks for no evident reason. He had the money; enough to live, not comfortably, much less like the blasé life he used to have back in the pristine streets of London. It was just enough to get by. Well managed, he could get himself at least two meals a day; a nice steak every other week. Lodging, he knew, would've been a hassle from the start; he couldn't afford a room in the inn, much less a home. He'd slept under the cloak of stars, exposed to the biting wind and arid dust. For three weeks he had done so, and he thought he'd go mad – until a young man approached him out of the blue.

Arthur Kirkland had shoved him away, quite literally. He was flustered at his state of dress, despite the fact that he couldn't do any better than a torn coat and a button-less waistcoat. There was no way he could have enough money for a new wardrobe, so the rags from back home had to do indefinitely. Until that man…that boy…had presented him an offer he could not refuse.

"_Howdy! Come 'long with me. Reckon y'look like a swell guy, even if those there clothes o'yers look like some'in' outta the White House."_ Arthur would never understand what in his right mind had convinced him to follow the youth, but he did so anyway. There was something about those dirty gold locks and those blue eyes that looked so honest. It would have been hard not to follow him, in fact. That bright smile that would make any miss swoon and gush in delight. To his surprise, instead of a friend, the Englishman found himself with a crook. A rowdy cowboy aiming for the big life by robbing the big banks and top miners of the Wild West. He had been outraged, but after a while, he was dragged into the pure thrill that came with each caper.

Arthur had become the master of seduction; the best distraction his cowboy ally could ever hope for. All he had to do was bat the thick lashes that framed his pasture eyes, and he had won. The prospectors never knew what hit them. The sheriff's wife never appeared at the meetings while their offices were being robbed dry. Day after day, week after week, the duo struck again and again. Never caught. The Londoner had become just as bad as the American. At first he hadn't cared, _but now_…

Earlier that day, after their last daring escape, Arthur clung to the back of his partner, looking off into the dry fields as he sighed. "I almost killed him, Alfred… I would have done so had you not arrived in time."

Alfred never replied. He had simply looked back, down at his shorter yet older companion with a dazzling smile. There was dirt on his cheeks, some grime beside his right eye. Stetson lopsided, shirt stained, a bit of blood on the corner of his lip after a brief fistfight. Yet, through his roguish looks, he was handsome. The incarnation of freedom itself. Arthur hid his face again once his heart began to flutter faster than expected. It was that feeling again. That feeling to make away with him, even if he was already there and was only his. No one would ever join their alliance; no one ever could, no one would ever be skilled enough. He had loved and lost, and had come running away from a haunted past only to discover feelings that even while married he hadn't felt. Arthur didn't mourn her passing; he had been indifferent. Not a man of feeling but of responsibility and nobility and propriety.

He was also possessive, above it all. It never sat well with him when those decrepit harlots or gruesome blatherskites laid their piteous eyes on his partner; his blood boiled with the idea alone.

"Always on the run, but never alone." It was a hard choice, but Arthur saw it as a fair trade. They now had the money to settle down in a fine home, but the law was always in their hindsight. It was instead spent on clothing, food, whiskey and whores_. Whores…_ Arthur's fame was enough to rival the best of them in those lands, but it was never enough to get him what he wanted. Not enough because it was too much; too much filth to win the wholesome heart of the blue-eyed wonder. It wasn't love… "love" was but a _thing_ brainless youth embraced. The answer to life didn't rest among it, it was just a waste of time.

Now, _lust_; lust was a completely different story…

"Fucking… bugger." Arthur grumbled at no one in specific as he stumbled out of the saloon, smacking into the wooden doors and nearly falling over, hadn't it been for the hitching post placed right outside. Too much whiskey, too much. _He never did hold his liquor well_. Nausea had already begun to hit him in waves as he tried too hard to steady himself, clinging to his horse who in turn snorted in his face. Arthur let out another string of profanities, glaring at the large beast. He had been compared to one so many times…The English Stallion – He felt sicker by the moment.

Laughter reached him. It was loud, very pronounced; and even while intoxicated, he could tell who that bright chime belonged to. Green eyes watched murderously as Alfred stumbled out of the rowdy saloon for different reasons other than him. A young miss was perched on either side of him, both giggling and grasping his slender arms in a less than modest way. One was daring enough to lean over and press a kiss to the sweaty neck, earning her a slap on the rump from the tall male. More giggling erupted from the femmes.

Splinters dug their way into Arthur's fingernails, but he didn't notice the pain. In turn, he just leaned over the post and hurled his insides out. The retching caught Alfred's attention, and he immediately released the girls, hurrying over to the Englishman's side, patting him on the back. "You 'lright there, Arthur? Can't handle a bit to drink?" He sounded amused, but he clung to the back of Arthur's shirt. Discreetly.

He swatted the young man away as best as he could without falling over or gagging on him. Alfred excused himself from the girls, who in turn glared daggers at the miserable man slumped over the wooden post. That was no new occurrence; he always screwed their fun with their lovely cowboy. With a loud inhale, Arthur straightened up, leaning against one of the beams, eyes squeezed shut, trying to fight and calm his heaving stomach all at once. He really needed to lay his head down somewhere, anywhere. Head in a fog, he didn't even protest when his arm was flung over Alfred's shoulder. He was maneuvered out into the night, a good walk to the only stream around for miles. Exhaling a dank breath, he looked over at the blonde. "Where are we going?"

"You're filthy. Gotta get you t'wash up a bit, eh? A bit o'water never killed anybody." As gently as possible, he set his partner down by the small stream, making sure not to upset him more than he already was. Alfred wasted no time in shredding off his clothing though, kicking off his boots before wading into the cold water. Arthur could only stare in drunken amazement. The water seemed wonderful. "Come now, Arthur. Din't drag y'all this way for nothin'." It wasn't as shallow as it looked, but it could have been deeper. Standing, the water only reached to half thigh, making Arthur look away when the younger blonde turned to him. "Well?"

Arthur debated. Debated while he watched the American sit, the water nearly going up to his shoulders. It was then that he decided, as he watched Alfred tip his head back to get his hair wet, that he'd join in for the sake of washing off a week's worth of dirt. With that last bit of modesty he still clung to, he stripped off his soiled clothing and waded into the stream with a shiver. "Bloody cold."

"What'd y'expect? At least there's water." Alfred flashed him one of his grins before splashing him playfully. It earned him a glare. "Ain't it cold back at yer place? Y'should be used t'it by now."

"I didn't walk around outside in the nude on a February evening."

The American laughed at that, and gave him a nod. "Fair enough."

With his back towards Alfred, Arthur dipped down into the water, sitting across from him before turning around. Despite the cold, his cheeks colored. "Delightful to feel water again…It's been quite a while. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

The blonde shrugged. "Dunno. Y'seemed so hell-bent on gettin' damn drunk, I let y'be."

Arthur looked down at the water, peeking a fingertip from under the water and swirling it around. Small rocks were biting into his thighs and rear, but it was nowhere near as uncomfortable as he had expected. It wasn't his glorious warm baths from back home, but it felt damn good to be in water again. "I suppose."

"It's not like y'shot him." Arthur blinked, taken aback at the sudden, not to mention out of place, words. "Just shows what a man y'are. Y'ain't a killer, Arthur. Even if I hadn't gotten there, y'wouldn't 'ave done it." Alfred slipped closer to the shivering Englishman, patting his shoulder in a comforting way. "Y'made m'proud to call y'my pardner."

The moonlight bounced off his young face, making his cheeks look hollow, his eyes brighter. Arthur felt something sink into his stomach at that look he was given, and he subconsciously brought his legs up to his chest, his cheeks turning a few shades darker. "It pleases me to know that the feeling is mutual, Alfred."

Water splashed around him as he watched said American stand up, water sluicing down his chiseled torso. And this time, modesty wasn't enough to make him look away. Back stiffening as he felt warmth slide down his back and envelope him, he couldn't help but lean into it, his frown easing away into a content smile. "Warm now?" Wet arms, cool to the touch, wrapped around his smaller form, pulling him back to rest against his chest.

Arthur nodded, pillowing his head against the American's shoulder, the buzz of the alcohol making him feel as if he were flying. Green eyes stared up at the blanket of stars splayed across the dark sky, rolling on for miles and miles on end, only disappearing into the far off mountains; all of them suspended in time. Unchanging for as long as he breathed and beyond. It was all so precious to take in.

He was sure it was the whiskey speaking, not him.

"What would the sheriff say, if he were to find us in such a compromising state?"

"Y'onestly worryin' 'bout that? Everyone's back at the saloon, families already indoors by these late night hours. It's just us out here. Just you 'nd me." Arthur wasn't stupid, or drunk enough, to not notice how his voice had dropped to a husky whisper by his ear. "And the stream." Long, cold fingers curled beneath the Englishman's chin, tilting his head up slightly. "Y'know…I've been watchin' you all this time…and I can't help but wonder. Why don't y'pull some of that there magic o'yers on there on me?"

It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying, when those fingers began to caress the pale cheeks, scrubbing away some of the dirt there. "Magic?"

"Yeah…magic." And for one breathless second, Alfred's lips brushed against Arthur's. Chaste, fleeting, and warm. Every sense went on overdrive, and Arthur was sincerely glad his waist was underwater, away from those large blue eyes. A chuckle rang from of Alfred's throat, as his lips hovered above the Englishman's, teasing him, but not quite landing an actual kiss. "I'm sure the ladies will be glad that all we did was just kiss."

"Most of the sex I've had wasn't as personal as that kiss." Arthur didn't miss a beat as he leaned up for another kiss, but Alfred pulled away with a wink.

"And that was just the kiss."

"What are you implying, cowboy?"

"I say we make good use of our room over at the inn, don' y'think?"

"Well I'll say, that there be the best idea you've gotten all day, pardner." Arthur tried his best to mock the American's accent, but it sounded more like a jumbled mess rather than a coherent sentence.

"Arthur? Shut yer mouth and let's get a move on." Alfred jumped to his feet, stumbling a bit when gravity hit him, and made for the rocky shore. Arthur followed, but eventually slowed his pace.

"What is it?"

"Didn't we leave our clothes here?"

"I'm quite sure we did."

"Well, doggon'. Fuck. I think we just got robbed. How's that for ironic? Shee-yoot." The blonde wiped at his nose. He placed his hands at his hips.

"Would you wipe that bloody grin off your face? How are we supposed to get to the inn without clothes?"

"Easy." Alfred slapped Arthur's behind, making the shorter man gasp and flush. "We make a run for it and hope no one sees us."

"That has got to be the stupidest idea you've ever come up with!" The Englishman hissed at Alfred.

"Bet you'd think differently if you ran behind me." He was given no time to respond before Alfred darted off, laughing in that boisterous tone of his. Arthur sighed self-consciously, looking down at his nakedness and attempting to plot a different approach to the situation, but Alfred had already poisoned his mind with the mental image of it.

The reckless cowboy was already far ahead, and if he wasted more time, he wouldn't be able to catch a healthy glimpse of glorious arse. "That boy will be the death of me, I swear it."

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_A/N: Originally written for the USUK Sweetheart's Week on Livejournal. Hope you guys enjoyed. ~ Reviews are greatly appreciated, as always. And as usual, I offer cookies in return._


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